


steel

by macabre



Series: elemental [3]
Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), Spider-Man - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Foster Family, Gen, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Parent Tony Stark, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Precious Peter Parker, Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure, Tony Stark Needs a Hug
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-12
Updated: 2019-07-12
Packaged: 2020-06-27 05:16:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,894
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19784005
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/macabre/pseuds/macabre
Summary: Tony manages to get around and open the passenger side door without waking the kid. He crouches, running a hand over his face. “Pete.”The kid stirs. When he turns towards Tony, eyes barely slit open, Tony looks at the thin scar along his cheek that the kid's classmate put there a couple of months ago. A physical scar that happened in Tony’s care, just to mock the invisible scars that happened in the care of Westcott.





	steel

Tony has all kinds of alerts and protocols in place for every situation imaginable; there are so many that some of them do slip his mind when they come up, but that’s what FRIDAY is for. He’s sitting in the middle of a finance meeting of all boring, mundane things when an alert pops up on his phone where he’s browsing through his next schedule. 

He frowns, but it’s not an emergency alert, he knows. FRIDAY would have his ass out of there immediately if it was, but his mind immediately flashes to the kid at school and Pepper in Milan. He excuses himself before addressing it.

“FRIDAY, what have we got here?”

“Skip Westcott is getting another trial, boss.”

It’s a different kind of terror that seizes Tony up then; he’s used to the kind of danger he can throw himself head first into, because there was a physical target or tangible success to be had. Skip Westcott embodies an entirely different kind of threat. 

The man was a previous foster parent of Peter’s; sentenced and tried before Tony even knew Peter, thank God. The man is lucky; if he’d still been out on the streets, Tony isn’t sure what he might have been compelled to do. 

Now, Tony can’t breathe. He blindly fumbles down the hall and into a chair near an elevator. There’s a fire under his skin that is licking up his neck and face; with every heart beat, he feels sicker and heavier. Another trial. Shit, his first trial was only a couple of years ago. 

This wasn’t good. This really wasn’t good.

Everyone told him, time and time again, that adopting a kid was hard. Adopting a kid with Peter’s background was even harder. But it was the kid who had to work through things - sure, Tony helped, and he provided where he could, but Tony never had to deal with the direct issue of Skip Westcott himself.

Now, it seems he might have to. 

“Not a word of this to anyone right now. Not Pepper, not Happy, definitely not the kid - and get the lawyers working on anything that might help squash the press.”

“Got it, boss.”

Tony goes straight to Midtown and signs Peter out early. Well, it’s only an hour early, but the face the kid has on when he sheepishly pushes the door open into the front office tells him he’s already managed to scare him.

“Hey, Petey Pie, we’re getting a head start up to the compound for the weekend, okay?” He gently pulls Peter into his side, slow enough that Peter can easily dodge if he needs to. 

Peter lets himself be pulled in, if only a little stiffly. 

“Is everything okay?” he asks. Tony’s got them on a brisk pace out of the school. He opens Peter’s door for him, the car parked halfway on the sidewalk in front of the flagpole.

“Everything’s gonna be fine.” 

Peter knows something is going on, of course. He dutifully settles into the passenger seat, eyes growing heavy already by the time they’re out of the tunnel. Stubbornly, Peter tries to stay awake - jerking upright every minute or so after dozing off once more. Tony reaches across and threads his fingers through Peter’s hair, and that does the trick. He goes out like a light.

Even on a Friday afternoon, the car ride to the compound isn’t too long. When they pull around to the residential side, Tony turns the car off and sits there. Peter still asleep. He wonders if the press has gotten ahold of the news yet; he hasn’t asked FRIDAY for an update in the past two hours. 

Tears sting the back of Tony’s eyes; part of him wished for this. Part of him wished that Skip Westcott might one day be in a position where he could get to him. Hell, Tony could have gotten to him any day he wanted, even with Westcott behind bars, but out on the streets? It makes it too easy. There are so many ways to ruin a man. Blood is by far the easiest, and Tony has never been one to take the easy way out.

But what justice does that serve? Or really, whose justice does that serve? 

It might comfort Tony more to have Westcott out where he can puppet him however he likes, to wherever he wants, and do with him whatever he sees fit, but for Peter - 

Peter already carries the baggage every day. Behind bars is behind bars, and a physical prison is almost as good as a mental one.

Tony manages to get around and open the passenger side door without waking the kid. He crouches, running a hand over his face. “Pete.” The kid stirs. When he turns towards Tony, eyes barely slit open, Tony looks at the thin scar along his cheek that the kid’s classmate put there a couple of months ago. A physical scar that happened in Tony’s care, just to mock the invisible scars that happened in the care of Westcott.

Peter isn’t really moving, so Tony unbuckles him and holds his arms open in invitation. Peter leans into him, letting Tony heft him up. He’s heavier than he used to be, but this sixteen-year-old still fits into Tony’s arms like a kid half his age, somehow. 

Stunted growth, they said.

At least the kid allows this. Peter isn’t so afraid of being babied like he once was upon arrival in the billionaire’s life. Some days, the kid is positively clingy, and not just with him - Happy too - and other days he still startles and gives everyone a wide berth. They all know to give him the option, let Peter come to them.

Still, Tony doesn’t make it all the way to Peter’s room carrying him. He has to set the kid down in the hall, waiting for him to settle, then leads the rest of the way with a hand on his shoulder. Peter’s room at the compound is almost as large as the one in the penthouse, but barren. Only in the last four months has Peter allowed himself to decorate in the penthouse because he trusted he was staying. The compound isn’t home, but Tony hopes that Peter begins to feel the same way here.

While Peter toes off his sneakers, Tony pulls down the covers on the bed. Peter slides right in; they never even turned on a single light.

“What is it?” his boy asks in the dark. His eyes are still half closed, but he’s completely alert now.

Tony sighs. He doesn’t want to have to tell him anything, but Peter will find out, and at least now they’re alone. Away from everything else. “Skip Westcott is being granted another trial.”

Peter doesn’t say anything; his eyes almost immediately glaze over. That far away, there-but-not-there look. This way, Peter can continue to look someone in the eye without them even knowing just how far away he is. 

“I know it’s - ” Tony flounders. Cruel. Fucking stupid. Everything that is wrong with the world. “Unfair. It doesn’t necessarily mean anything. He’s not - he’s not going anywhere, Peter. Another jury will see that dickbag for what he is, I promise you.”

Peter is holding his breath, Tony realizes.

“I don’t want you to worry about anything. I know that sounds incredibly stupid, but as much as possible. Whatever I can do to make it durable, we can do, Peter. If we need to take a trip starting tomorrow, that’s fine.”

Everything in the room remains still.  
The silence grows, so Tony stands. Lingering awkwardly, unsure if he should stay or go. “You know what to do if you need me, kid.” He’s about to leave when he hears the quietest of questions:

“Is it because I didn’t testify?”

Tony whirls around so quickly he startles himself, and definitely the kid in bed. “No. Peter - no. This has nothing to do with you! It’s the fucked up justice system continuing to do its worst. There are no guarantees with these things, and - ”

“Do you think he’ll get off this time?”

The righteous hatred in Tony’s lungs leaves outright, and he feels like he has nothing left. He hunches in on himself. “I don’t know, Pete. I kind of doubt it, but it’s possible. More likely than anything else, he might get a shorter sentence, if I had to guess.”

Peter doesn’t move, doesn’t breathe. Tony removes his shoes and crawls in bed next to him, careful to leave some space between them. “This okay?” he asks. Peter nods, so minutely that maybe he imagined it. 

Tony stays anyway.

When they get up the next morning, the kitchen is crowded with Happy, Rhodey, Pepper, Natasha, Clint, and Bruce all in various degrees of consciousness. He knows that they all want to be there for Peter, so they probably communed before the break of dawn to make sure they’d be awake before them. 

They do a good job of maintaining a fluid timetable, something to keep Peter’s mind off things. Natasha takes Peter to the gym first thing, because she’s the most alert at that time of the morning, while Pepper takes Tony through what she knows so far. Happy eventually joins Natasha and Pete, and two of them turn on Happy, gently boxing the man until he’s fleeing the gym. Peter cracks a smile, and Tony sees the tears in Happy’s eyes when he comes back.

Bruce asks Peter if he wants to help him cook lunch, and over the gentle simmer of a tomato sauce reducing, they talk shop about a new solvent that Bruce is working with. After lunch, Clint instigates a massive game of hide and seek on the grounds that starts with just him, the kid, and Natasha, then ends with everyone looking for Peter.

“Shit, maybe this was a bad idea,” Clint worries out loud, but Tony just clasps him on the back.

“I’ll find him. Don’t worry about it. Maybe gather some intel for dinner ideas?”

Peter hides like breathing; it doesn’t necessarily scare Tony by default anymore, but it can still be scary. He knows his kid wouldn’t have left the premises though, so he takes his time searching the last couple of indoor spaces before crossing paths with Natasha who was looking outdoors. She nods towards the direction of the garden, nestled up against the woods where they push against one side of the compound. 

“Found him. He’s moving into the greenhouse now, though,” she says. “He wasn’t ready to come in yet.”

The greenhouse isn’t much of a greenhouse; it’s more of a small tent that Bruce set up when he started spending more time upstate and he wanted to go all in on the garden. There’s only a handful of things inside, the plants too delicate to grow in full sun year round.

Peter lies on his back in the middle of two lines of vegetation. There’s dirt sprinkled across his cheeks like freckles. There’s not a lot of room next to him, but Tony takes his chances and just hopes that he doesn’t trample too much of Bruce’s handiwork.

They’re quiet for a bit; Tony measures Peter’s slow breathing. It’s calm. Peaceful outside when the sun is partially blocked.

“You know I love you, kid. And I’d do anything to take this all away from you.”

Peter sits up, a stray twig of something stuck to the back of his shirt. Tony can’t see his face now, but he can see him digging up the soil underneath his hands, his fingers flexing beneath the earth. Peter looks down at something, leaning forward, and as Tony slowly sits up too, he’s presented with a small bundle of carrots, dirt and roots precariously falling all over his lap.

“Look, they’re ready.” Peter gives a small smile. “I’ve never had home grown vegetables before.”

Tony just nods, accepting one from the bundle and shoving it in his mouth. Peter laughs, “That’s disgusting.”

It is, but it serves its purpose. 

“Does it make you hungry for dinner?” 

Peter shrugs. “It’s nice to see everyone. I know they came here for me. But…”

“It’s a lot.”

“A lot.”

Tony pulls him up from the ground. “Let’s ditch dinner. Do something just the two of us. We can bring them back dessert.”

They end up at a dine-in move theater watching a generic rom com that seems safe. In-between popcorn and friend pickles, Peter settles his head on Tony’s shoulder and it stays there. It’s the perfect end to a tense twenty-four hours, sitting in the dark with an excuse for Peter to seek physical solace. On the way home, they pick up ridiculous looking donuts from a trendy new place that’s open late.

Clint says he doesn’t forgive them for ditching, but his mouth is full of two different donuts. Natasha grimaces behind him. 

Peter shuffles off to bed by himself. Tony sits with his head resting on Rhodey’s thigh and his feet on Pepper’s lap. He’s almost relaxed when Clint throws himself on top of all three of them. Bruce feigns like he’s going to join them on top of Clint, but takes a step back and smiles down at them all instead. 

The laughing draws Peter back out; he pops his head around the corner, narrowing his eyes at the lot of them. “Are you having a slumber party without me?”

Natasha says, “Never,” at the exact same time that Clint yells, “You ditched us, man!”

Peter hovers for a moment longer, smiling, then disappears. 

“He knows I was kidding, right?” Clint asks, confused. “I thought he’d come back out.”

“He knows.” Tony stands, his back cracking. He should stop carrying teenagers around, no matter their size.

In his room, Peter lies on his stomach on the floor. Head on top of his clasped hands. He’s not doing anything - staring at the wall. He’s taken a shower recently, damp hair curling up around his ears and dressed in sweats and a hoodie. 

“You need anything?” 

Peter shakes his head, but he sits up, curling his hands up in the sleeves of his hoodie. 

Tony waits. 

“I want to testify this time.”

Tony nods, face carefully blank. “The new trial won’t be for awhile yet.”

“Yeah. But I’m pretty sure about this.”

Tony can’t take any of this from Peter. He knows that.

“If you testify, I’ll be right there behind you, kid.”

Peter nods. “You said you wished that you’d told someone about Howard when you were my age.”

“Yes, but that was a very different situation, Pete.”

“Yeah.” The kid shrugs. “I didn’t want to testify the first time because it was right around the time that my case worker thought she might have a potential new foster parent lined up. The first one since Skip. It didn’t happen, obviously. I was at the home until you took me, but… I didn’t testify because I thought that it might affect whether or not I was placed.”

“Oh Pete, I’m sure that’s now why they fell through - ”

“Doesn’t matter. It didn’t happen, and part of me was so scared to have another foster after… After that. But I let what someone else might think of me keep me from testifying. So.”

Tony crouches down in front of Peter. “I’m so proud of you, you know?”

“Yeah. I know.” Peter doesn’t come any nearer to Tony; does not engage in any kind of contact. “I’m so grateful to you, Mr. Stark.”

“It’s Mr. Stark again, huh?”

Peter ignores him. “It feels different - being grateful. I love you too, but I need you to know.” He’s fidgeting a lot now. Vibrating, trying to hold himself together. “You could have taken any kid. You could have adopted a baby, a clean slate, but you got me instead. And I sometimes feel like I don’t know how to live with that, that feeling of gratitude.”

Peter cries. It’s a silent thing running down his cheeks. Tony so wishes he could squish the kid to his front and not let go, but he makes himself sit still. “It was literally the best decision I ever made, Peter.” 

“I’m going to testify.”

“That’s good, kid.”

They don’t end up waiting as long for the new trial as Tony thought; it’s a circus, in the very worst ways possible, but Peter maintains composure, even after they call him to the stand three days in a row, not content to give up grilling him. They ask the same things over and over again, in only slightly different phrasing. Tony has to listen to details that he’s never heard before. 

It feels like something he will never get over, but it’s not his. He has no right to feel that way.

The trial goes on after Peter’s testimony. Tony’s lawyers tell him that they think the state will rest in another day or two. In the meantime, Peter packs a bag. He’s finally agreed to let Tony take him on a vacation.

He asked Tony to take him to his favorite place; Tony takes Peter to Brussels and they lick chocolate from their fingers while on a river boat, bundled up because it’s almost Christmas now and there’s snow, but he doesn’t tell Peter his favorite place is at home with him.


End file.
